


fantastic posing greed

by imprintofadream (imprint_of_a_doe)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Background Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence, Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imprint_of_a_doe/pseuds/imprintofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>eames teaches arthur not to trust and arthur teaches eames that, sometimes, trust isn't so bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fantastic posing greed

**Author's Note:**

> **author’s notes:** this work was inspired by and written for the beautiful art submitted by [kamikaze-bunny](http://kamikaze-bunny.livejournal.com) for the [inception reverse bang round two](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/). i wrote for [prompt 1037: arthur is embarrassed about something and eames finds it charming/adorable.](http://kamikaze-bunny.livejournal.com/286716.html#cutid1) i owe a tremendous thank you to her for such beautiful artwork to use as inspiration.
> 
>  **warnings:** violence, obtuseness, sex, background canonical character death, etc.
> 
>  **disclaimer:** these characters belong to christopher nolan and i belong to them. title, scene breaks, and end quote from ‘northern downpour’ by panic at the disco.
> 
>  **betas:** i also adore [noor](http://phoenixnoor.livejournal.com/) for looking this over with me and caps-locking at me about arthur’s last name; [danielle](http://feauls.livejournal.com/) for flailing over dom’s brief appearance; [betsy](http://mentalistecbm.livejournal.com/) because she forced me to make her brownies; and [rachel](http://wildespirit.tumblr.com/) for being lovely and keeping me up late in this doc. any last mistakes are entirely and purposefully my own.

\--

_-if all our life is but a dream-_

when eames first meets arthur, arthur is new to the business, and he’s young, and innocent, and fucking _gorgeous_. he’s got _dimples_ and eames wants to press up against him and press his thumb into one, wants to claim arthur for himself in a way he doesn’t seem to have been claimed yet in this underground world.

eames sees arthur for the first time and it only takes him seven hours until he’s got him spread out on a hotel bed, head tossed back and body tense with pleasure as eames works over him, in him.

it’s not his proudest moment--that’s nearly a lie, though, isn’t it--but eames wouldn’t take it back for the memory of arthur that way, dazed and thoroughly fucked out, sleepy smiles and soft nudges of his nose against eames’ collarbone. wouldn’t take it back for the way arthur asks, “this is a little late, i know, but isn’t it unprofessional to sleep with your coworkers?” and for the way arthur laughs when eames says, “darling, this is dreamshare. all we _do_ is sleep with our coworkers.”

eames finishes the job with the team, winks at arthur as he leaves the warehouse two weeks later, and it’s only after months have passed that he understands arthur interpreted his wink to mean something other than “good bye, thank you for a good lay.”

he wonders, now, looking back on it, if it’s his fault the dimples and easy smiles and t-shirt-and-jeans look have all disappeared. but, really, arthur would have experienced something like it even if eames _hadn’t_ been involved--eames is sure.

he’s got to be.

- _if all our life is but a dream-_

when eames gets a call from a woman named mal, asking if he's available for work, eames has no idea who she is. it's the beginning of something fan-fucking-tastic, though, something that will change his life.

eames already regrets answering the call as soon as she’s mentioned she’s looking for him. he’s got enough debt from school racked up, he knows; he doesn’t need them to keep bloody reminding him. honestly. “this is he.”

“oh, wonderful. i was wondering if you were busy this afternoon?”

he has to pull the phone away from his ear to glance at the number, see if it’s one of his friends playing some kind of prank. wankers. but, no, he doesn’t recognise it at all. in fact, it’s not even the right country code. “if you don’t mind my asking, ms miles, what makes my afternoon any of your business?”

“i’ve heard things about you,” she says. and--the thing is--she doesn’t even sound ominous. she’s just straightforward, very unconcerned with any reaction he might have. it’s kind of impressive, actually. “i’m looking forward to meeting you because i think the position i’m offering you would benefit both of us in the long run, and i’m eager to see what you can do, mr eames. if you’d be so inclined as to meet with me this afternoon, i could begin my assessment and fill you in on what it is, precisely, that is being assessed about you.”

so eames, because he’s a poor student with far too much debt and far too few opportunities for serious work, goes.

and what he hears--about dreamshare, about the experiments mal is doing, about the stipend she’s planning to pay him for assisting her in her research--all of it sounds fantastic. so he accepts.

- _if all our life is but a dream-_

mal gave him his start in dreamshare, six years ago on a sunny day in the middle of london, walking along the thames while drinking coffee. her scarf had been blowing in the wind, her short hair bouncing along with each step, and he’d been enchanted. still is, to this day, and when he walks into the warehouse for this job, she’s the first thing he focuses on after taking in his surroundings.

she grins at him, stands to shake his hand and buss his cheek. “eames, i’m relieved to see you’re looking well. i’m glad we could fit this into your busy schedule.”

“ah, i’ve always time for you, mal, you know that--just as you knew it when you snatched me up to be your lab assistant. cunning woman, you are.”

her smiles folds in at the corners, a little less happy and a little more smug. “yes, i’m glad you realise it. in that same thread, might i introduce the rest of my team?”

he steps back, allows himself to study the others now.

there’s dom leaning over one of the tables, rubbing his head with the best affronted expression eames has seen in a while. he’s let himself go a bit, messy hair and wrinkled clothes with food stains on them, and there are four empty taco bell bags in the trash bin under his area. dom makes it obvious that he’s the architect, too immersed in creating to realise precisely what’s going on around him. he hasn’t even looked up since eames entered the room.

but the other man--he hasn’t taken his eyes off of eames for one second.

eames meets his eyes, and they are dark but so easy to read that eames is knocked off balance. he hasn’t met anyone in this business who would be so honest with their gaze, not knowing the way anything they reveal can be used against them. no, this kid is new.

he walks forward then, hand outstretched for eames to shake. “hi, i’m arthur pendergast, mal’s new pointman.”

eames takes the proffered hand, looks at the smooth skin and tendons, the elegance of his fingers, follows the bones of his wrist up, to the forearm, to the bicep, before his view is blocked by the grey t-shirt. arthur is lanky, has the potential to grow into himself, and he’s so easy-going that eames wonders if it’s a front after all. he looks at mal as he drops arthur’s hand. “new project?”

“oh, shush, you have no room to talk. arthur’s older than you were when i snatched you up.”

“you’re joking,” eames says, looking back to arthur, who appears to be more amused than offended. there are shadows of dimples in his cheeks, his dark hair waving around his face, and he _can’t_ be older than seventeen, he just _can’t._

“sorry to disappoint you, mr eames. i’m twenty four.”

mal smiles, reaches out to put her hand on arthur’s forearm. “believe me, eames, i was disappointed too. he’s not young enough to adopt. dashed all my hopes, that did.”

“oh, fuck off!” and arthur is laughing, and eames is grinning now, because there _are_ dimples, and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and eames wants to _touch._ he wants to _have._ eames wants to _unravel._

and later that night, after they’ve all left the warehouse, after arthur accepts eames’ offer to share a cab, after arthur drinks a bottle of wine by himself at dinner, eames presses him up against a wall in a lift and presses his mouth against arthur’s and presses his fingers up under the hem of arthur’s t-shirt to trace his hipbones the way eames’ tongue is tracing arthur’s teeth.

and when they make it to eames’ room, when arthur is throwing his shirt off eagerly and eames is settling in the middle of the bed, watching, eames looks at him, the smooth unscarred skin on display, the movements of bones and sinew and muscles, and he has an idea of how he’ll taste, how he’ll feel pressed up against him as he fucks arthur until he’s limp and satisfied. eames looks at arthur then and he doesn’t feel old, or crooked, or false, or any of the things he’s been taught to feel in this industry.

maybe that’s why he likes arthur, because he’s _new,_ because he’s not _changed_ yet. still wide-eyed at this world he’s been drawn into, wide eyed as eames pulls him onto the bed and proceeds to open him up, to whisper in his ear, to suck bruises onto his skin like drops of paint or blood. and then, when eames presses into him, presses him down into the bed and holds his wrists down and fucks him like the dawn isn’t coming and they’ve got all night and the rest of eternity and the lifetimes of a thousand burning stars, arthur closes his eyes and eames realises it’s _trust,_ and how long has it been since he’s seen _that?_

after he comes apart inside arthur, after he’s brought arthur off with his mouth, after arthur is half sprawled on top of him and mumbling in his ear, his laughter shaking them both until he falls asleep, eames closes his eyes and remembers that face, remembers how he felt something inside of him expand and shrink with the realisation. he falls asleep with arthur on top of him and he doesn’t mind, and maybe trust is just a little bit infectious here, the same way arthur’s smile is.

- _if all our life is but a dream_ -

so arthur is attractive as all fuck, basically, and he’s an anomaly in the dreamsharing business as far as the seemingly-no-secrets-yet thing, but when they go into the dream, eames gets to see him in action. he gets to see arthur planning meticulously and taking notes and asking intelligent questions. he gets to see him focused on keeping dom in line when mal won’t, even as he throws in a few basic tweaks of his own that surprise and delight eames. when he wakes up after being pushed off a staircase with no end, he’s laughing, and when arthur wakes up and apologises, he brushes it off and smiles the rest of the day as he studies for his forge.

the real job goes easily, so many backup plans in place in case the original fell through that eames was impressed despite himself. arthur, against all odds, knows what he’s doing, and mal knows that, and eames knows that, and he thinks soon arthur will know it too.

he’s glad.

when they’re packing up, when arthur is ushering them all off the premises, eames smiles at mal, claps dom on the back, and turns back just for a second, sees arthur grinning at him, and he winks.

then he disappears and leaves all of it behind, a little disappointed but much more eager.

- _if all our life is but a dream-_

eames learned not to trust early on in the business. he loves mal like a sister or mentor, but she’s a hard woman to trust after all he saw her doing when he was her research assistant. she’s the one who’d forced him into the illegal aspects of dreamsharing, after implicating him in the research she shared with the US government. eames had been young and it had hurt more than anything before, to be betrayed by the woman he so looked up to, but she’d been the one to set him on his feet here, too, apologising for bullocksing it all up in the first place and making sure he was good to go before she set him free.

and when eames leaves after that first job with arthur, he spares one serious thought about arthur--he thinks that even if arthur knows how to trust now, even if he doesn’t seem to realise what a powerful thing that is, he won’t remember how for long, not with mal.

mal is brilliant and nobody ever contests that. her name is known in the academic circles, in the criminal circles, in the business world. mal cobb, née miles, is a formidable woman, intelligent and focused and far too ambitious. she takes prodigies under her wing, teaches them until they surpass everyone in their field, loves doing it. she likes the acknowledgment it gets her, likes the looks she gets. she wants to fly, high above them all, and she wants them to watch as she does.

only she never thinks of the people she’s leaving behind when she does.

so, two years after he works that first job with arthur, when eames hears of mal’s death, struck breathless though he is, he’s not surprised.

he thinks, fleetingly, that it’s good arthur had already learned not to trust before she jumped.

- _if all our life is but a dream-_

the second time eames works with arthur, mal is still alive, and arthur has started wearing suits and slicking his hair back. eames whistles at him when he walks into the office space they’re renting and it echoes along the tiled floors, the glass windows, until arthur looks up at him flatly, no dimples in sight, and eames muses that he must have gone without coffee because he should be _ecstatic_ to see eames, the way he sees it.

“arthur, you look lovely. are those new cufflinks? did you dye your hair? oh, wait, i know what’s changed--how much did you sell your smile for? i hope it was more than the going rate.”

“only a night in bed. should have charged more, really,” arthur says, and nods at him before brushing past toward the door. “the files and security tapes you need for preliminary understanding of the job are in the desk nearest the break room.”

and then eames is alone with the rest of the team, blinking at his own stupidity, because, well, yes, arthur was most likely implicating him in this whole ‘serious adult’ thing. eames doesn’t appreciate that blame being placed on _him_ of all people. eames is the _master_ at remaining young and unserious.

on the surface, at least. he’s a _forger._

eames frowns. he’d rather enjoyed the dimples and ruffled hair and simple t-shirt--made it so much easier to get him undressed than this button-up shirt and tie will.

mal clucks at him from behind, rolls her eyes theatrically when he raises his eyebrows at her. “did you have to sleep with him? i’ll be rather disappointed if he kills you over it, harold.”

“he wouldn’t,” eames argues, pointing at her. “i was a really good lay, i’m sure he hopes it’ll happen again, and please stop calling me that. he won’t kill me because he knows there might be a chance i’ll bed him again, obviously, and he must really be gagging for it with the attitude he’s putting on right now. you worry too much—i can’t wait until you get wrinkles. plus, what, he’s a _kid,_ mal, jesus.”

“do you remember his competency during the job, or were you just lost in a haze of self-satisfied lust the entire time?”

and, well, really, eames reconsiders, he does, but arthur wouldn’t--couldn’t?--kill a man out of the dreamscape. he thinks. not that he wishes to test his hypothesis with himself as the subject. no, he rather assumes it’ll be best to persuade arthur from afar that the night they shared is worth remembering _fondly,_ not as fuel for murder.

fuck his libido. and damn arthur’s missing dimples. they’re so _tempting._

so when arthur gets back, when he’s leaning over a table with sevya surveying the layout for the dream, eames watches his back, watches the way his muscles tense under the thin suit jacket, has trouble tearing his eyes away from arthur’s perfect arse, doesn’t pretend otherwise when arthur turns and glances at him once.

arthur blinks at him, unconcerned, and turns back to his task. eames is offended. he is _certainly_ not that easy to brush off, anyone could tell him that.

when they leave for the night, eames has made no progress that he can see. he’s sure, somewhere, that arthur is hiding his reactions, so sure that eames doesn’t give up for the next three weeks until finally--finally--arthur seems to break.

“eames, do you even know what the mark looks like?” arthur barks across the room--there’s no looseness in that voice now, damn his luck--and he’s not even giving eames the satisfaction of eye contact. his hands--and god eames remembers those hands--are smearing ink across page after page of notes or summaries or drawings or whatever it is arthur does in those moleskines of his. eames sometimes entertains himself by fantasising that arthur is a tattoo artist who can ink his skin, but that’s a little too personal, even as a joke.

“of course, darling, that’s why i’m paying more attention to you. i think i know the mark better than i know you, in fact, and that’s really quite a pity.”

“you know me in the biblical and professional senses, mr eames, and those are the only ways you’ll ever know me.”

“arthur--mr pendergast--i can’t believe you would imply those are the only things worth knowing about you. in fact, i’m having trouble believing you even said that to me at all.”

and then arthur looks up and eames almost-- _almost_ \--wishes he hadn’t. arthur’s dimples may have disappeared, his back might carry more tension as a safeguard and kind of armor, but his eyes are unshuttered and honest and _angry_ in this moment. eames looks at him and thinks arthur’s eyes are betrayed, and he remembers, then, once more, that arthur _trusted_ him on that night, remembers how novel that had been and how he’d suspected, upon leaving, that it would be the last of it.

arthur certainly does not trust him now.

eames purses his lips to the side and looks back down at his file; arthur goes back to working silently; and their lives carry on.

- _if all our life is but a dream_ -

by the time eames and arthur work together for the ninth time, eames has become used to their routine. he knows he will needle arthur uselessly until arthur brings up their time together with some disparaging remark to brush it off, at which point he will usually back off. it’s not that eames feels guilty, really, because--well, in some way, he kind of prepared arthur for mal’s leaving them.

arthur, of course, will never see it that way. he will only see that eames didn’t bother to leave a thank you note the morning after, that eames never moved to take things further. eames doesn’t know what arthur expected, but, despite it all, arthur and eames work _well_ together.

arthur may be strict and all too focused and averse to exploring himself as he leads the team into an extraction, but he is also thorough and he keeps them informed and out of danger. he encourages communication through the team so that everyone is informed of risks and outside facts, and sometimes he talks when nobody is listening except for eames, and eames likes those moments best.

eames likes to watch arthur think, his brow furrowed just slightly, pen spinning back and forth across his knuckles like eames’ poker chip. it makes him want to step into that skin, to see exactly what it is to be arthur, but skin and mindframe are two very different things, and eames knows this, and so he never tries to forge arthur despite the attraction of the idea. he might get stuck.

with any mark, eames can pinpoint the things he needs to perfect, the things the mark will be looking for and what they won’t be looking for because it should already _be there._ with arthur, he continues to mix things up--what arthur used to be and what he is now and eames still doesn’t know where he fits in. he’d be vacillating back and forth, the way arthur does, unpredictable as those short flashes of time when arthur will meet his eyes and his expression will change just the slightest and eames won’t understand at all.

arthur looks at eames sometimes and all eames wants to do is reach out and touch, reach out and dig his fingers into smooth, taut skin stretched over visibile hipbones, vertebrae, over collarbones that eames can still remember marking with his mouth and bruising with his fingers as arthur arched under him, expression entirely open. he doesn’t ever look at eames that way now, not since eames left that first job.

but eames also appreciates arthur’s policy of open-information flow on the team, appreciates that he handles any problems he foresees with marks or coworkers or international authorities. eames, against all odds, feels safest working even the most dangerous jobs with arthur, and arthur always seems to call him for those.

at any rate, things are set in their routine, until they aren’t. until eames brings mikhal and arthur to work together and their dynamic is completely obliterated, and eames actually comes to regret his actions. it’s a moment of pure stupidity.

eames might have blown mikhal once, maybe twice, long ago, and mikhal may have never forgotten that. if eames is after another round with arthur, mikhal is definitely after another round with eames. it’s usually a fun game, but _usually_ eames isn’t working with both of them at once. it makes his head hurt.

mikhal is the one to cause the problems. or it could have been eames who started it. it’s not important, though, really.

what’s important is that mikhal tries to shoot arthur and arthur _does_ shoot mikhal and eames never once thinks arthur would shoot _him_ and--that’s the strangest bit of all.

_-if all our life is but a dream-_

“eames, man, it’s good to fucking see you!” mikhal gives him a slap on the back when he walks into the back room of the abandoned laundromat they’re working out of, even manages to grope eames’ arse a bit.

eames grins at him, lifts an eyebrow. “mikhal, i’m glad to see you’re still alive.”

arthur is already here, of course he is, and he’s sitting at the only desk in the room, folders spread before him, gaze steady on both of them. “you’re late. your plane got in eighty minutes ago, eames.”

“eh, don’t be too hard on him, arthur. he’s an asshole but he’s good at his job.” mikhal drops into one of the chairs across the desk from their pointman, smiling lazily. “good at lots of things, to be honest. wicked tongue, this one.”

eames looks at arthur as he sits down, sees arthur’s chin tilt just an degree to the left, disapproval set in every line of his body. dreamshare may indeed be about sleeping with coworkers, as eames said so long ago, but arthur and eames both know some sleeping should really be kept apart from the job--god, do they know. “i’m sure he’s led you to believe that. fortunately, i’ve seen eames’ work before, though it really does not excuse his putting his work behind his personal life.”

“darling, you know i only stopped for a pack of cigarettes and a coffee for you,” eames says, setting the starbucks on the desk.

arthur purses his lips and reaches out to take it, sighs and shakes his head minutely. “fine. dickhead. don’t be late tomorrow--i can get my own coffee.”

“oh, i know you’re fully capable, arthur. i just wanted to take care of you.”

mikhal looks between them, and he’s frowning but eames smiles at him and says, “so, the job?” and he has to drop the subject.

\---

mikhal tries to catch eames after he leaves for the day, tries to walk in just as eames gets there in the morning, goes so far as to trail eames halfway to his hotel one night before eames loses him. he’s getting increasingly frustrated with the way eames plays with him and plays arthur and plays them against each other. not that arthur plays, and not that mikhal thinks it’s particularly fun, but eames does it all for the good of mankind. if eames isn’t amused, arthur would say the world might face destruction.

he might be right but eames doesn’t need to admit that. most people are already aware and stating the obvious is far from glamorous.

at any rate, mikhal dislikes arthur and eames finds it hilarious and arthur finds it absolutely fucking idiotic because he’s _arthur_ and he doesn’t _smile with dimples_ and they’re supposed to be _working_ instead of fucking about.

arthur approaches eames two weeks into the job and asks, quietly, if mikhal is really right for the job, and eames brushes it off. later, he will wish he hadn’t. later, he will wish he’d noticed the tension in arthur’s frame was not the kind he was used to, was not a _familiar_ tension. at the time, all he sees is that, delightfully, arthur might be playing despite his unwillingness in the first place.

when it finally snaps, eames isn’t even in the room, but he can hear, and he knows immediately things are going straight down the drain, that all of his prodding and plotting for his own enjoyment has cost them.

“so, arthur, how long have you known eames?”

“does it fucking matter? can we just get the maze finished so we can actually do the job?” arthur sounds tired, annoyed, like he’s been rubbing his hands over his face repeatedly. eames likes to tease him that ironing out the wrinkles in his frown won’t make them go away, and then he’ll think of mal and her worry-lines and he’ll up the ante by being more ludicrous than before because he doesn’t like to remember.

“you get rather fucking defensive whenever anyone brings it up, dude, that’s all i’m saying. you got a history or something?”

“not of the kind you two seem to share.” papers rustle as one of them--probably arthur--adjusts the map of the layout, a pen clattering to the concrete floor when he does.

“what the fuck do you mean by that?”

“nothing. look, do we really need this closet to open out of the side of the building? that seems a bit excessive.”

“what’s excessive is your fucking unprofessional demeanor.”

“oh, god, you can just fuck right off. get some rest and i’ll check the maze again before i leave. we’re done for the night.”

“are we? why, arthur, because you can’t wait to lead eames on a bit more?”

“excuse me, i couldn’t care less about what’s going on between the two of you, but you better not let it affect the job. if i had known before that you two had issues, i wouldn’t have brought you both onto the team.”

someone moves and eames sits still in his chair, unmoving, ears straining. “you focus on the job, pendast, and i’ll focus on eames. stop encouraging him and we’ll all get out of this just fine.”

“you think i encourage that? you’re joking, man. eames would only stop needling me if i surprised him by getting down on my knees in front of him. he won’t give up until i do. it’s a _game_ for him, nothing more, and we’re both just pieces to be played.”

arthur’s voice slips a bit and eames is hit with the memory of their first meeting, their first job. he sounds like he’s lost some of that stiff upper lip, sounds like the kid eames knew briefly, and eames makes to get up, because if arthur has lost his professional demeanor mikhal must be off his rocker.

privately, mikhal always has been. and, privately, eames is smug that he knows arthur’s last name is not truly pendast.

mikhal’s voice gets louder, as if he’s forgotten who else is around, and he doesn’t care anymore, does he? maybe eames took this all a bit too far. maybe arthur will lecture them all later about it. maybe he’ll make everyone apologise and tell them to put on their big-boy shorts. only eames is nervous, now, and that doesn’t happen without need, and he thinks that future might not be too forthcoming.

“oh, it’s obvious that you like playing his game just as much as he does. you enjoy seeing him brush me off to touch you and dote on you, much as you might put off that you disapprove. but it’s useless. he’s doing it to make me jealous, you know. we _do_ have a bit of history.”

“does it look like i fucking _care?_ jesus _christ,_ i just want to get this job done and get the fuck away from the both of you!”

“you’re in the way, pendast.”

“no, _you’re_ in the way of successfully completing this fucking job, you stupid prick. do you know what the word professionalism _means?”_

“are you just trying to get back at him, arthur? what, did he break your little heart once upon a time?”

eames gets to the doorway, then, sees arthur standing straight and staring across the desk at mikhal like he wishes he could spray acid in his eyes, and mikhal is leaning over, fists clenched, and eames needs to step forward and figure something out, needs to bark out orders for them to get their shit together, only then mikhal moves and he has a gun out--where the fuck did that come from, eames doesn’t even have time to think--and then he’s on the floor, bleeding out, gasping, and arthur is still standing behind the desk, perfectly unruffled, staring down at him through the sight on his pistol.

“you’re a dumbass,” arthur says, shaking his head and looking up at eames, finally. “did you absolutely have to fucking do this? did you even consider what it was doing to the job? what it might do to everyone working it?”

looking closer, eames realises arthur _is_ rattled. his cheeks are flushed, his jaw quivering as he grinds his teeth, even as his hands remain steady. he wonders how long arthur had been holding back, what it was precisely that angered him so beyond the personal issues being brought onto the job. eames wonders how the arthur he met first would have handled this, whether he’d have laughed in mikhal’s face instead of insisting they focus on the job, whether he would have joked it off and walked away making fun of eames’ sexual prowess instead.

and then eames wonders at the fact that he has two categories for arthur--the arthur of ‘before’ and the arthur of ‘after’. it’s an unsettling thought, that arthur had changed so much between them, and eames can only think of one significant thing and--

it’s no good thinking about it, though, because arthur is moving to pack things away, is brushing by him and calling back over his shoulder, “job’s off, eames. get out of town fast. i’m not going to be responsible for you.”

and then he’s gone.

- _if all our life is but a dream-_

personally, eames thinks dom has lost it, but sometimes crazy is brilliant, and sometimes brilliant is crazy, and arthur is there keeping dom in line, just like old times, so eames joins the team for the fischer job.

only arthur is worn down, taking care of ariadne and testing sedatives and finalising plans with saito and making sure eames has his folders and flights and that there are new markers for the white board and building supplies for ariadne and that their trails are all covered and their alibis all good and making sure he does his own research on the mark and not drinking coffee and--eames has never seen him this stressed, really.

the only time he ever seems to revert to a person rather than a position is when someone is prodding him, so eames makes sure he does it continuously, differently than he has before so that arthur can focus on it. he never once doubts that arthur will get everything done perfectly, because arthur has never let him down before and eames will be damned if he does this time.

to be honest, he’s not sure why he’s concerned with getting arthur to calm down, only that he does it without thinking and that he keeps remembering the way arthur’s cheeks had been flushed after he shot mikhal, the way he’d walked out slowly but determinedly, as if he’d needed some measure of control because he was so close to losing it all.

arthur has only ever truly _lost_ his control once around eames before, and that was during a time when he was so blissed out on eames’ cock that he couldn’t stop himself from moaning and moving and saying words that would have made even mal lift her eyebrows.

he’d been flushed then too.

_-if all our life is but a dream-_

“what’s up with you, then? aren’t you happy we got dom home?”

arthur looks at him sidelong as eames catches up to him, the people crowded around them making them nearly impossible to spot in the cameras. they’re safe, for the time being. “last time i was in LA with you, i let you take me to bed. that’s all.”

eames blinks. tilts his head. “yes, you did. and?”

“that didn’t work out too well.”

“oi, wait just a moment, you seemed to _enjoy_ it. i’d say it worked out spectacularly, from my point of view.”

“for you, maybe.”

eames frowns, reaches out to snatch the car keys from some woman’s back pocket when she’s not looking as they walk by. “darling, really now, what did you expect?”

arthur looks away from him, and eames notices his posture, notices the hands in his pockets, the way he angles his face--as if he still has long hair, as if it’ll protect him from eames’ scrutiny. he looks twenty-four again, and--god, but he looks embarrassed and eames doesn’t get it until he _does._ “more.”

“oh.” eames pauses, surprised when arthur does as well. he’d expected him to keep moving, to put more space between himself and the problem, to run and leave it in the past as eames thought it had been. except then eames thinks, remembers, _“what, did he break your little heart once upon a time?”_ and the resulting gunshot, and it never really settled into the past at all, did it? “how long has this bothered you? what the fuck made you bring it up anyway?”

“i’m going to visit mal’s grave. in the months before she died, she kept telling me that i reminded her this was reality, because i wasn’t alone in her dreams anymore.” arthur bounces on his toes, just once, still looking away as eames absorbs that. “it freaked me the fuck out and i was angry with her, and then she jumped. and whenever i go to see her--her grave, i mean--i just... i always remember that. and i hate it, because she died when i was angry at her and i didn’t understand, and i couldn’t do anything about it. so then i start to i hate you, because it’s all your fault.”

“arthur, all i did was sleep with you. if mal wanted us to be together because we were both her prodigies, that’s her deal. we didn’t have a responsibility to her in that capacity.”

arthur finally looks up at him, and eames bites his tongue to keep visible reactions to a minimum. it really does shock him when he gets an unguarded look into arthur’s eyes. it’s not _fair._ arthur isn’t allowed to trust eames with _anything;_ that’s how they silently wrote the rules after that first job. arthur is supposed to _know better._ only, really, eames is the only one thrown off by it, has been the only one abiding by those made-up rules since the beginning. arthur never even knew they existed.

“mal wanted it because i did, for a while. i let myself go, and since then i’ve never forgotten what happens when you do. i don’t trust you as much as i should trust someone i’m risking my life with, eames.”

and maybe that’s a lie when it should be the truth, and _damn_ him.

“because we slept together?”

“because it wasn’t more than that. because i was naive and i thought it might be. because--fuck, i don’t know, because i was idiotic enough to trust you then without making you earn it.” arthur shrugs, self deprecating, still honest, and eames knows this is the last show of trust he’ll ever get and it feels strange because really arthur has trusted him all this time--trusted him to keep him alive during jobs, trusted him to forge properly, trusted him to get things done no matter what else was going on, trusted him with little glimpses like this that toss eames into places he doesn’t recognise.

“i liked your trusting me.” that’s—the truth, to an extent. eames and arthur both _know_ arthur shouldn’t trust him like this, and yet eames has never tried to dissuade him again, has never done anything to break that fragile imagined trust but leave to live another day unburdened. eames--or some lost part of him--has always been _greedy_ for arthur’s trust, ever since they met, ever since he felt that strange sense of hazy pleasure when he’d first experienced it.

arthur’s mouth twitches. “well, mr eames, i apologise for that.”

eames continues frowning, tilts his head again as if it’ll give him a new perspective. “you had dimples when you trusted me.”

a shadow of one appears now when arthur half-smiles. “as i recall, you rather liked them that night. doesn’t matter, though, does it? i learned my lesson and now you know why i don’t treat you as i treat everyone else. it’s embarrassing that i’m holding a bit of a grudge over something like this, really, but, there it is. i need to learn not to trust people. it’s sad that it really has taken me this long to learn properly. it’s nothing to be proud of, certainly.”

“when are you going to see mal?”

“now.” arthur hitches his bag up onto his shoulder, looks out over the cement and asphalt. “i’ll tell her you said hi. tell her i pulled my head out of my ass finally and learned the lesson you’ve been trying to teach me all this time. thank you for your work on the job, mr eames. i appreciate your help in getting dom home.”

“arthur.”

“hmm?”

“i liked that you trusted me.” eames can’t stop thinking this, can’t stop thinking of the dimples and the softness of arthur’s t-shirt, the softness of his skin, the teasing he’s been doing for years and years and years because he was upset he hadn’t made an impression that night the way arthur had made an impression on him, because maybe it kept some of that trust alive, because eames _never_ fucking forgot arthur’s expression that night, nor the way it had affected him. he’d just never realised precisely what it had done to arthur, either, never even properly considered it. what’s more, _eames_ has trusted _arthur_ all this time, without even realising it, without even questioning it, and he feels like he’s been slammed into the ground as this washes over him.

“i don’t think it’s anything to be embarrassed about,” he says slowly, quietly working it out in his head. “trusting other people, i mean. in fact, in a way, it’s rather... charming, you might say, how it works.”

arthur frowns at him. “you just stole some woman’s car keys. the only reason trust is charming to you is because it amuses you.”

“well, i’m not the most trustworthy of blokes, it’s true.” eames holds the keys up. “want a ride to the cemetery?”

“why?” arthur stares, confusion and suspicion chasing themselves in his eyes, and eames grins.

“i’m hoping one day you’ll show me your dimples again, that’s all.”

“eames.”

“arthur.”

“we _just_ covered this. i thought we were dropping it?”

“oh, no, i’m just getting started, darling. you have a headstart on me so you’ll have to wait up a bit, if you’re amenable to that.”

“what?”

“it’s my turn to make an impression, hmm?”

arthur looks like he has no idea what’s going on, and it’s a new look, and eames thinks maybe arthur trusts him more than he wants to, and someday, maybe, eames will fix that.

eames will make arthur trust him just as much as he wants to. eames will earn it this time.

because, in the end, eames trusts that arthur trusts him, despite it all, despite both their efforts, and maybe that’s enough.

**_\--the northern downpour sends its love--_ **

  



End file.
